


a sweet escape

by jenhyung



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Churros, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25951654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenhyung/pseuds/jenhyung
Summary: Doyoung buys churros.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 24
Kudos: 406





	a sweet escape

Johnny catches him before he makes it out of the apartment. He’s nursing his second cup of coffee, eyes narrowing over where Doyoung is clutching onto his phone and wallet, baseball cap tucked low. He waits for Johnny to say something, to sigh or roll his eyes, to express some sort of disapproval, but Johnny doesn’t, simply watching.

“Don’t tell him,” Doyoung says eventually.

Johnny triumphs. He nods, turning on a heel and retreating to his room, where Doyoung knows Jaehyun is tucked under Johnny’s comforter. That, he keeps to himself.

Careful on his way out, Doyoung pulls on a mask and heads down the street, a flutter in his chest and a skip in his step.

♡

The girl behind the register recognizes him. He’s thankful, of course, and doesn’t mind leaving a signature for her on the back of a takeaway menu. She doesn’t loiter, quickly keying his order into the iPad and deftly working the payment terminal. He thanks her quietly and waits off to the side.

There are about six different kinds of churro fillings and dipping sauces so Doyoung gets a few of each and as many drinks as he can carry. It’s supposed to be the best place for churros in Itaewon and Doyoung wants only the best today.

She packs them all neatly and when she’s about done, Doyoung calls for a taxi through Kakao.

“Thank you! Please come again!”

Doyoung nods politely and smiles, forgetting momentarily about the mask over his face. She blushes and waves goodbye anyway, so he guesses that’ll have to do.

♡

The music is muffled when Doyoung gets off the taxi. He thanks the driver again before shutting the door with his hip, bags of churros and drinks hanging from his arms. There’s almost no time before he’s running into a stylist he knows, recruiting her help in transporting his haul onto set.

“You came here on your own?” She asks, taking the lighter bags of churros when Doyoung insists to hold onto the drinks. She gapes in awe at the sugar-dusted pastries, “Oh my god.”

“It’s really nothing,” Doyoung says, the back of his neck already warming at the thought of being here. He glances around, at ease when he doesn’t see any of the members around, “It’s just a little snack for everyone working so hard today.”

She gushes, “You boys are too sweet.”

Doyoung doesn’t know what to do with the compliment so he shakes his head and glances away. Thankfully, she doesn’t say more when she leads him down winding halls, towards the main set of white, red, and several panels of green screen.

“They’re just about to finish a shot for the first chorus,” she tells him, gesturing for several other staff members to clear the table she’s walking towards. Carefully, she sets the churros down and leaves a spot for the drinks. She turns to him and nods, “You should stay around and say hi to the others. They’d be happy to see that you’re here to support them!”

“Ah, no, it’s okay,” Doyoung is already backpedaling. Overhead, the music starts to play and he hears the director commanding instructions, “I should probably just go and–”

“But you came all the way here,” she insists. His presence is drawing attention now, luring a couple of set techs and assistant managers towards the heap of churros, “I’m sure they’ll want to catch you on camera for the behind the scenes video too.”

“Ah, that–”

“And _cut_!”

Her attention is taken away by the director’s yell and a small round of applause for the finished take. Doyoung takes the chances now to slip behind the rows of unused stage props, snug between some sort of command control top and a scarf with checkered prints.

From his spot is a perfect vantage point. The stylist from earlier exclaims when she finds him missing, eyes roving around only to pass where Doyoung is hidden in the shadows.

“Good work, everyone! Let’s take a ten-minute break and we’ll get right back to Taemin’s verse in panel F!” A voice is clear in a loud-hailer; Doyoung presumes it’s the day manager, spouting instructions according to schedule, “Baekhyun and Kai, please proceed to the dressing rooms for change four. Ten, to Set 2B for solo panel A. Lucas, to Set 2D for solo panel B. Mark and Taeyong to Set 1 for panel H.”

Doyoung’s skin crawls at the familiarity of it all, as if it was only yesterday he was here in full make-up and preparation for their latest music video. He hugs his arms close to his chest and waits with bated breath as he hears the members thank the crew, footsteps hurrying across the boarded floors for ten gracious minutes of rest.

Baekhyun and Kai emerge first, walking swiftly across the space between the set and the threshold to a hallway leading to a myriad of rooms filled with costumes and props. Ten and Lucas follow, chatting loudly as they go, peeling off their leather jackets and thanking the heavens for AC.

Doyoung’s heart thumps heavily in his chest. He tries to take deep breaths to calm his raging heart but he nearly suffocates from the sheer amount of dust lying around. Distantly, he wonders just _why_ did he pick a spot like this to hide in?

Or, conversely, why is he _hiding_?

“Whoa.”

Taemin is the first who spots the table full of goodies. His eyes are bright and child-like when he realizes they’re churros, jogging over to appraise the lot of pastries.

“Doyoung bought them for everyone,” the stylist informs him duly. She motions at a few of the staff members already sharing bites of a long churro, dipping it in a mix of sauces, “He came by earlier and brought them himself.”

“Doyoung?” Taemin echoes, picking up a smaller churro ribbon coated in white chocolate. “All of this?”

“All of it,” she affirms.

Taemin’s expression crosses bewilderment and delight, and he’s turning back around to call, “Taeyong! Come over here for a bit!”

Just the name is enough to have butterflies explode in Doyoung’s chest, enough to have his skin crawl in anticipation at the sight of the one he hasn’t seen in ages.

“Yes, hyung!”

“Look at these,” Taemin laughs, emanating pure joy at the presence of sweets. He steps aside to let Taeyong marvel at the complete selection of snacks, his eyes wide with surprise when Taemin says, “Doyoung bought these for everyone.”

Taeyong blinks, “Doyoung?”

Taemin nods twice.

Taeyong frowns, “Kim Doyoung?”

“Yes,” the stylist pipes up. “He came by earlier with all these and mentioned it was for everyone.”

Doyoung shrinks further into the wall when Taeyong straightens, “He’s here?” Churros forgotten, Taeyong’s gaze sweeps across the place, brows furrowing, “Where?”

“I don’t know,” Doyoung hears the stylist say. “I told him he should stay to say hi, but he was gone before I convince him.”

Taeyong’s expression, from the distance Doyoung is at, is unreadable, “When did he come by?”

“Just a couple of minutes ago.”

Taeyong lips part, and then he’s looking at the churros and coffee. Doyoung bites on his bottom lip to keep his smile from growing, waiting for Taeyong to take his pick and have a bite of sugary goodness–but Taeyong doesn’t. It’s too long a moment that his arms stay by his sides, moving not an inch, and Doyoung is immediately wracked with worry that something’s _wrong_.

“These are amazing!” Taemin sees the camera before anyone around them does–as years of experience have equipped him with a sort of sixth sense–and he’s looking to Taeyong, the distinct cadence of his words puncturing the air, “Taeyong, seriously, you have to tell Doyoung I’m so thankful for these.”

Taeyong moves instantaneously, locking eyes with the camera coming around his shoulder to film him, “Doyoung… he…”

Doyoung chews on the inside of his cheek. The seconds play out horrifically slow, enough for Doyoung to witness the stutter in Taeyong’s thoughts, the halting of his words, his body.

“The churros,” Taeyong regains composure, reaching for a bundle of churros kept cleanly in a paper bag. He cradles it to his chest, “Doyoungie, he–even though he isn’t here… he bought this for us… I…”

Taeyong sighs, a smile dancing on his lips. It’s a sight, the way his eyes glitter even under the dimmed lights, the shine on his cheeks from a thin sheen of sweat and a sweep of silver-white highlight, the alluring stark of his bright red hair against the whites of his clothes.

Doyoung pinches himself in a sorry attempt to get it together, legs weakening when Taeyong’s lips twist in a wistful pout, “He bought this for us even though we didn’t tell him too.”

A fuzzy feeling blooms under Doyoung’s skin and he desperately wishes he could run over and collect the older boy in his arms.

“I’m so touched,” Taeyong croons, hugging the churros snugly against his chest. The paper and plastic crinkle when his cheeks grazes the packaging, “My heart is so full.”

And Doyoung very nearly cries. He doesn’t manage to catch Taemin’s remark, too busy keeping his legs from rushing him to where Taeyong stands surrounded by tens of others, but Mark is called over soon after, happily surprised at the prospect of goodies.

Mark does a fine job having a taste of a couple of churros, reactions well-loved by one of their managers behind a camera, dutifully filming him. It’s when Mark is on his third bite that Doyoung’s phone buzzes in his back pocket.

He checks it quickly, anticipating a call from another of their managers, his escape from home found out–but it’s Taeyong instead.

Doyoung blanks. He glances up at where the older boy had been, blinking twice when he sees that Taeyong is gone.

“Tell me you’re still here,” is what Doyoung hears the moment the line connects.

Doyoung itches to say he is, “Hyung.”

“I haven’t seen you in a week.” Taeyong’s voice crackles through the receiver, breaths short as if he were rushing, searching, “Doyoung.”

Between Taeyong’s preparation for the upcoming comeback and the time logged in at the studios to work on his hard drive full of demos _and_ the hours Taeyong clocked in with their dance teachers, there’s just been no time. It isn’t to say that Doyoung hasn’t been busy either; filming videos for the channel with Renjun, working on his vocals with the trainers, taking up extra dance sessions to fix his isolation habits that Taeyong loved to tease.

It’s just one of those seasons where they’re all too busy working, practicing, _improving_. There aren’t enough hours in a day to sneak off to the Han River for a midnight stroll or an obscure café in the twilight morning for a cup of coffee and a long-awaited conversation with hushed whispers.

And Doyoung knows how hard it’s been on Taeyong, ferried from place to place, sleeping in vans and lumpy dressing room couches instead of his own bed, in Doyoung’s arms. He’s made it a point not to intrude on Taeyong whenever it comes to times like these, knowing his presence would do nothing but let Taeyong simply… stop.

But Taeyong can’t do that right now. He can’t drop everything for a day in bed Doyoung’s arms, he can’t let everyone down like that–Doyoung won’t let him. Doyoung knows Taeyong doesn’t want to stop either, needing the rush of adrenaline to get him through packed schedules.

So Doyoung keeps his distance, he’s kept his distance over the past week, resting only when he hears Taeyong’s door shut just as the sun starts to rise.

“Just for a minute,” Taeyong says, snapping Doyoung out of his reverie. The urgency in his tone threatens to break Doyoung’s resolve, “Please?”

“Hyung,” Doyoung hears the hesitance in his voice, “Not here.”

“Doyoung, I–I want to see you.”

And it breaks like a dam. Doyoung scurries out of the shadows, keeping his head bowed and his phone pressed tightly to his ear, “Where are you?”

“Uhm,” Doyoung hears paper rip and a door shut. Taeyong tells him, “One of the dressing rooms. It’s by the ones we were in the last time.”

Doyoung goes, slipping into the hallway through throngs of assistants and interns rushing by with papers and cameras. He hears Lucas’ raucous laugh and knows he’s going in the right direction, passing a door with Baekhyun and Kai’s name taped to it.

There’s an unmarked door that comes up on his right. It’s a big enough sign; the doors are never unmarked here.

Doyoung steels his heart and pushes the door open, poking his head through. He’s yanked in by the collar, tripping over his own feet as he falls, caught by a wiry arm. The door is shut behind him and Doyoung is hugging his assailant, the figure warm and familiar even after layers of plastic and leather.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Taeyong whispers, words muffled by Doyoung’s shoulder. He breathes deeply, chest moving against Doyoung’s, “What are you doing here?”

Doyoung can’t find it in himself to feel guilty for distracting Taeyong from work. He holds Taeyong close, arms tight around the narrow frame he’s missed so much, “I came to cheer you on, hyung.”

Taeyong makes a soft noise, an indistinct grumble, nuzzling into Doyoung’s neck, “Do the managers know you’re here?”

“No,” Doyoung sighs. He lifts a hand to run it through Taeyong’s hair, desperate to embrace Taeyong the way he’s been dreaming of. The thought of hairspray, however, and hours of styling has him settling the hand on the small of Taeyong’s back, “I snuck out.”

“You’re going to get into trouble,” Taeyong says, not moving an inch. Doyoung takes comfort in the smell of Taeyong’s skin, blanketed by chemical fumes and that rich cologne the stylists loved to douse him in, “Does anyone else know you’re here?”

“Johnny hyung does,” Doyoung says. He hugs Taeyong tighter when he feels the older boy pulling away, unwilling to let go now that he’s gotten a sliver to having Taeyong so close again, “He won’t tell.”

“He won’t,” Taeyong knows.

Taeyong untangles his arms from Doyoung, hands sliding over Doyoung’s shoulders to cradle Doyoung’s cheeks, holding him inches away. Doyoung swallows thickly, unable to cope with the war his heart is waging to be free.

He’s known Taeyong for years now; he’s seen Taeyong regarded as the perfect canvas styled in the most ostentatious stage clothes, seen Taeyong in a navy-blue Yukata when Yuta brought them all to a fancy resort years ago, seen Taeyong sweat through shirt after shirt in the frenzied days leading up to their comebacks.

He’s seen Taeyong through it all, he’s seen all the faces Taeyong’s worn, knows the world would lose its heart to Taeyong too, but he’s the only one who knows the Taeyong under it all–the Taeyong he loves most.

Taeyong with a bird’s nest atop his head on a lazy Sunday morning, Taeyong with acrylic on his cheeks and chin when he’s painting his latest pair of sneakers, Taeyong with his eyes closed, peaceful in his slumber, breath and heart in a steady with Doyoung’s own.

“What is it?” Taeyong’s eyes are brilliant under fluorescent lights; Doyoung thinks he could lose himself in them, “Doyoung?”

“I’ve missed you,” Doyoung admits, welcoming the heat that warms the highs of his cheeks. Taeyong’s face crumples with affection, “I really have, hyung.”

Taeyong kisses him at once, bringing Doyoung forward to have their lips meet in the space between. Doyoung expects it and doesn’t all the same, but he’s melting as Taeyong wields, every nerve in his body a magnet to Taeyong. He tastes the mango-flavored lip balm on Taeyong’s lips, smiling when he recalls belatedly that he’d gotten it for Taeyong the last time they had a whole day to themselves.

“I love you,” Taeyong murmurs into the kiss, biting at Doyoung’s lip, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Doyoung says. He forgets about the concealer and foundation and highlight and cups Taeyong’s cheek, “I love you, hyung.”

“Sleep in my room tonight,” Taeyong tells him, “The shoot wraps at eleven so I’m hoping to be home before midnight?”

“Okay,” Doyoung says. Unadulterated joy courses through his veins, “I’ll wait for you.”

“And thank you for the churros,” Taeyong kisses Doyoung chastely, twice, then thrice. He’s beaming when they part, “You really didn’t have to get them, Doie.”

“I wanted to,” Doyoung insists. He steals another kiss and licks his lips, tasting mango, “Besides, I have to make sure you eat… You never eat during shoots, hyung.”

“Well, actually, Baekhyun hyung bought us all a couple of donuts from that really great place in Gangnam…” Taeyong trails off, the corners of his lips pulling up into a maddening grin. Doyoung already knows Taeyong’s in love with the way careless mention of Baekhyun has him scowling, “I’m joking–I _am,_ don’t look at me like that–I’m joking, alright? I’ll have the churros you bought; I promise!”

“Here I am, trying to be a good boyfriend,” Doyoung mutters, rolling his eyes when Taeyong laughs, that giggly _ehehehe_ that never fails to chase Doyoung’s jealousy away. He clears his throat, “You know you get all weak when you don’t eat, hyung.”

“Yes, yes,” Taeyong waves a hand dismissively, “I’ll have some later after my shoot with Mark, I _will._ ”

“You promise,” Doyoung reminds him, already feeling reality seeping back into the room. On the other side of the door, he hears footsteps rushing by, “Then I should probably…”

The light in Taeyong’s eyes dull in the slightest, “Go?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung mumbles, just as reluctant. He kisses Taeyong again, a parting kiss, “I’ll see you at home?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

Doyoung lets his eyes linger on Taeyong’s face for a couple of heartbeats more before he’s turning, slipping out into the hall first. He wants Taeyong to yank him back into the dressing room so that they can take advantage of the crappy couch and stay snuggled together for the rest of their foreseeable future, but Taeyong doesn’t and Doyoung can’t say he truly expected it–but he can always dream.

In the taxi on the way back to the apartment, Doyoung’s phone lights up with a message from Taeyong.

_I did have some!!! It was good!!! Now stop worrying!!!_

A selfie is sent almost immediately after, Taeyong smiling around a chocolate-coated churro. Behind him a hairstylist stands, hands a flurry in Taeyong’s hair, possibly fixing the damage Doyoung’d so inevitably caused.

Doyoung types up a quick reply and smiles when his phone pings again,

_See you tonight ^_^_

♡

Before the clock strikes twelve, Taeyong’s door is pushed open. Doyoung is already under the covers, phone in his hands. He smiles when Taeyong pokes his head through the door, hairspray and make-up traded for a pair of clunky glasses and reddened skin. Doyoung lifts the comforter without a word and Taeyong is shutting the door, dropping his duffle by the bedside table and climbing in with a loud groan.

He curls up against Doyoung’s side and says nothing, hands making their way under Doyoung’s cotton shirt and splaying them across Doyoung’s torso, feeding off the warmth there. Doyoung doesn’t mind it, tangling their legs together and cradling Taeyong close, leaving a hair’s breadth between them. He presses his nose to Taeyong’s crown, welcoming the smell of Taeyong’s apple-scented shampoo.

And here in the night’s cool and quiet, Doyoung lets them both breathe. In a place only they know, in a place Doyoung would gladly be–he loves and is loved.

**Author's Note:**

> it's been... a while...sorry for any mistakes ;; er . yeah find me on twitter @jenhyungs ? thank you for reading . (rubbish)


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